


Homecoming

by LazyCakes



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Cute, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyCakes/pseuds/LazyCakes
Summary: Agent Stone waits for his Doctor to come home, not knowing that he won't.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I was like 'hey watch me write sonic fanfiction and let me make it sad as hell'  
> My friend was like 'bet'  
> So here we are  
> Also let's play a little game, how many sonic universe/other Jim Carrey role references can you spot?

_ Working late. Home when I’m done.  _

The note wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. Stone had come home, late himself, 10:30 to be exact, to find it stuck to the refrigerator door, an apple core in the garbage.

Well, there was nothing to worry about, Stone thought as he swallowed his disappointment. If the Doctor said he’d be home later, he would be home later, and his doting agent would be on the couch, certainly not wine-tipsy, and certainly not watching trashy reality TV, waiting up to accost his husband before he could complain about his miserably long day, surrounded by idiots.

Stone sidled his shoes neatly into the cubby by the garage door and folded his jacket over his arm as he scanned the rest of the kitchen, out into the living room. Everything seemed just as neat as when he’d left that morning, stools tucked behind the breakfast bar, but it was hard to tell with just the lights under the cabinets. The house was quiet, though. Peaceful. Agent Stone headed down the hallway, stopping first at their bedroom, the carpet under his socks plush compared to the hardwood of the hallway, the kitchen. It was spacious, the ceiling much too high; he’d always maintained that they’d be happy in a studio apartment, but the Doctor showed his love in... _ eccentric _ ways. Like buying homes with custom lights at every turn. And a pool. And a three-car garage even though his beloved trailers couldn’t fit into it. And twelve-foot ceilings and custom countertops and California king beds whose space was never capitalized upon, not while its occupants slept so close. Agent Stone knew the Doctor loved him, whether he said it out loud or not. He abandoned his jacket, his tie, his cuff links, at the foot of the bed, and stepped back into the hall, waving and winking heartily at the security camera at its end. He hoped that the Doctor would get a good laugh if he ever checked in. He let himself into the door under it as quietly as he could, only cracking it to peek. 

He wasn’t sure if his disappointment in the Doctor’s late return grew or fell as he leaned his head against the wood, breath soft. 

The room, washed in a delicate red glow, was as still as the rest of the house. 

Toys were strewn in haphazard piles on the floor, dinosaurs and little plastic  _ Batman _ figurines lined up on the windowsill, the Riddler knocked over. The closet door was closed tight, books spilling from their shelves, desk halfway organized, crayons and colored pencils upright in their little containers, miniature wheelchair folded up and tucked neatly beside it. Above the desk, in its glass display case, the Doctor’s pride and joy charged silently, offering its light to the room. Stone could forgive most any of the Doctor’s actions when he looked at it, could understand all the long hours and late nights and this godforsaken obsession with the otherworldly power source he was investigating, even all the way out in Montana. 

A fully articulated left leg stood upright in its charging display, plated with delicate sheets of titanium, joints accented with red lights and lovingly engraved symbols Agent Stone couldn’t hope to recognize. It was built from the hip down and scaled for a child. Four years, eleven months, and nineteen days, to be exact. 

And she was exact. 

Stone turned just enough to look over the footboard of the bed. Maria was sprawled across her sheets, covers thrown off, flat on her back, mouth wide open. Stone held back a laugh. She acted so dignified when she was awake, a little lady, a genius just like her daddy, but then the  _ Star Wars _ PJs went on and the lights went off and she’d be like this, every time, without fail. Her remaining leg was hanging halfway off the bed, and slowly but surely, the rest of her was sliding with it. Stone sighed as he opened the door further, let himself in, and tiptoed to the edge of the bed. He eased her leg back to a safe position under her hip, brushed her blonde curls away from her face (and tugged one out of her mouth), and tossed the covers back across the bed properly. She only ever stirred enough to close her mouth, hold her stuffed echidna closer. She’d been so obsessed with weird little animals lately, this was just the most recent in a line of things Stone had hardly ever heard of. He sort of missed the hedgehog phase, it was much less disturbing.

Stone spared a final glance to the prosthetic as he closed himself out of the room. It was as stunning as it was advanced, but at the cost of being advanced beyond any modern batteries. It could barely hold a charge for more than six hours, no matter how much the Doctor had worked. He also knew that hidden in the back corner of the Doctor’s work truck, there was another one, bigger, meant to be finished in just eleven days for a bigger daughter. Five years on this earth was nothing to sneeze at. But it had the same issues as the iteration before it, too much power on too little charge. All the drone bots from the last year that had slowly driven the Doctor deeper into his frustration had shown no signs of improving; Stone had been able to  _ taste  _ his excitement when they’d heard about the energy knockout.

So the late nights could be worth it. Stone knew that. But tonight he missed his husband. His stomach didn’t settle right with being called back home for bureaucratic work, not with a domestic terrorist on the loose, and so close to the Doctor. 

He stopped back by their bedroom, hung his jacket carefully, returned his cuff links to their magnetic board, his tie to its drawer. He paused at the nightstand, hand on his wrist. He knew better than to keep his watch on, he would only sit on the couch and stare at it as the seconds ticked by until the Doctor returned.

He closed his eyes and took it off, setting it delicately by the alarm clock. If he spent all night missing his husband, he’d melt into his arms as soon as he saw him! It should be the other way around, the Doctor begging for forgiveness for being so foolish as to stay out with his family waiting for him at home!

Stone could make that happen easily enough. 

He let himself into the Doctor’s side of the closet and picked out a pair of pajamas just barely too large for himself, black silk with red piping. He’d gotten them for the Doctor on their first Valentine’s Day, when he was uncertain if they were even officially dating, or just making messes at the office, as if it wasn’t hard enough to get a gift for someone who seemed so incredibly condescending of typical romance. He’d been so surprised when they’d moved in together, three years after that, to find that they were included in his massive closet of coats and too-right trousers. He’d been wearing them the night he had kissed Stone awake and said, “Hey, let’s have a baby.” He’d worn them on Maria’s first Christmas morning.  _ To The Doctor _ , all his gifts had been labeled, even the ones from Maria, who had only been able to pick them out by pointing, barely old enough to speak yet. 

The Doctor. To Stone, that was it. Just Robotnik when he got upset with him, which wasn’t often. It wasn’t his birth name, of course; just like Maria, there was no way of knowing his birth name, found at just a few days old. His driver’s license and their marriage certificate both said  _ Ivo Robotnik _ , His clearance ID that he couldn’t be bothered to carry with him said  _ Gerald Robotnik _ , and the preschool had him listed as simply  _ Robotnik, Dr.  _

Stone stepped out of the closet, tying the waistband string tighter than it had probably ever been done before. He was a real catch, the Doctor should have kept in mind when he decided to leave a note instead of even calling. His agent was a real catch!

He’d prove it. The Doctor would stumble home late enough that it could be called early morning, and Stone would be sprawled across their couch, nursing a rather expensive Pinot Noir, a filled glass sitting on the counter next to the bottle, just waiting to be emptied, and the Doctor would ignore the glass to fall to his knees and bury his head in Stone’s lap, whining about how foolish he was to ignore what he needed most, tug his gloves off to reach for Stone’s hands and beg for him to not hold it against his Doctor, promise that he really had been working so very hard. 

Hey, it had happened before, Stone could make it happen again. 

He stopped by the pantry, stooped down and tugged free the last bottle of the Doctor’s favorite, then stretched on his tiptoes to reach the glasses the Doctor’s very favorite professor had given them as a wedding gift. He gave each a generous pour, left one and the bottle — he’d coo as soon as the door opened, asking oh-so-politely if he could be given another pour, should it please his husband — on the counter, and traipsed his way to the couch. He paused to light the coffee table candle, really hit the mark of a doting, lonely partner, sighing in contentment as he finally sat down after such a long day. He sank into the cushions, taking a moment to be thankful the Doctor was so decadent, before sitting back up to finally enjoy his wine. 

He’d been so good, enjoying his first glass in peaceful silence, watching cars pass from the distant highway, but by the time his glass was empty, the cars passing were few, far between. 

Stone stood and poured himself another glass. He was in the process of putting the bottle down when he caved and looked at the kitchen clock, house still hazy in the weak light. 

**_2:16._ **

Stone took the bottle back to the couch with him. 

He tucked his knees up onto the couch. His next sip of the wine was far more bitter than it had been before, and he was certain now that the heartburn wouldn’t be worth it. 

He missed his partner, dammit. He wanted his husband to come home, he wanted to peel that stupid jacket off and run his hands through his hair, pull the Doctor into a stumbling slow dance too close to the candle and definitely too close to the wine, careless on the carpet. 

The next glass went down a lot faster. 

Stone resigned himself to lying down on the couch, and sighed. He couldn’t hold it against him. The Doctor was out looking for ways to make their daughter’s life as normal, as perfect, as possible. It was one of the few things he was openly vulnerable about; he wanted to give her everything he’d never had. The Doctor was a good man, whether he’d admit it or not. Stone remembered the first time he’d seen the joint bank account, was first flabbergasted with how much went into it, second with how much left it so easily for the orphanage that had raised him. Alone, the Doctor donated enough to keep the entire thing running. He wasn’t a bad man, no matter what the world saw. He was just afraid of being hurt. 

Stone sat up again, emptied the bottle into his glass. He’d finish it, then he would drink a glass of water and go to bed. The Doctor would be back when he was done with his work, Stone was sure, and his husband and daughter would be there, at home, happy to see him. 

**Author's Note:**

> And then Robotnik was sent to the Mushroom Realm and never came home ;~;


End file.
